The Quandary of the Writer

It’s probably safe to say at some point every writer has thrown hands to air and moaned, “Why would anyone ever want to hear what I have to say?”

Whether it’s after a particularly difficult day of writing in which the internal editor vetoes every sentence or it’s the result of receiving another “pass” on a project, there will just be those days when we wonder why we even bother.

A dear friend of mine faced one such moment during a difficult critique session. Afterwards one of the members of the group stated that she would never purchase a book dealing with the written subject. What made it even harder to hear was that the critiqued piece dealt with something the writer had difficulty facing herself in the first place.

Questioning our purpose isn’t limited to just writers. The Old Testament prophet Jeremiah is dubbed the weeping prophet for a reason. There was little that happened during his lifetime to rejoice over. He spoke the words he was called to speak and was ignored, rebuked, and rejected by his people. In a fit of despair he even accused the Lord of trapping him in an impossible position.

He lamented, “…if I say, “I will not mention his word or speak anymore in his name,” his word is in my heart like a fire, a fire shut up in my bones. I am weary of holding it in, indeed, I cannot. (Jer. 20:9 NIV)

As writers we all face moments in which we have to answer for ourselves if our calling is worth the heartache and pain.

It’s one thing to write for entertainment; however, the words that ultimately hold the most lasting value are those which hold up a mirror and cause us to look at uncomfortable things about ourselves and the world in which we live.

Words that reveal a truth we may not wish to see.

As a result, there will always be someone who, intentionally or not, will cut you down. There will always be moments we look at our work in progress and say “I cannot write about this. It’s too hard.” 

This is especially true when writing about something that’s controversial or sensitive in nature.

In speaking with my friend we both learned that sometimes the question we ought to be asking is not “Who would want to hear what I have to say?” but rather, “Am I willing to listen to what is being spoken to me?”

Sometimes the very thing we write is meant for our personal growth and healing. When that process ends up helping someone else it’s just an added bonus.

In the end it may not matter if what we write goes on to be published to raving acclaim. Sometimes all that matters is that we finish what we start. And finish it well.

When Criticism breeds Strength

I’ll never forget the day I sat through my first peer critique in college. It was my first creative writing course and I’d spent weeks agonizing over what to write. I ended up with a corny children’s bedtime story, that while fun to write, I was terrified to show others and hear what they truly thought. Not only did I make myself sick over it, I ended up calling one of my closest guy friends and filling his voicemail with tears because there was no doubt in my mind the entire class would hate it. It was the first time I’d ever contemplated skipping class.

The way the critique worked was simple: everyone got a copy of my story the class prior to my critique date. On judgment day I had to read the story aloud and then sit silently while each of my classmates commented on what worked for them and what didn’t. If I opened my mouth to defend or explain myself, I’d be docked points; afterwards I could ask a couple of questions for clarification on anything that was said.

To be honest, it was less traumatic an event than I’d made it out to be and I’ve since adopted the credo “The fear of the thing is worse than the thing itself.” Many of my classmates really enjoyed the concept of my story and my professor suggested I learn more about writing for young readers because he thought I had talent in that direction. A classmate even asked to take my story home for his son.

The reason I remember that day so vividly is because it is the day I learned the value of constructive criticism. It also formed the first layer of skin I would require to make my way as a writer. I’ve gone through many more critiques since then, some more pleasant than others, but I quickly discovered that I learn more from having someone point out my weak spots than by receiving pats on the back. I need honest eyes because I tend to overlook or justify obvious flaws in my storytelling. It also helped prepare me for the rejection slips that would later come my way.

I believe learning how to handle critiques of my work early on has been one of the most beneficial lessons I’ve learned. It’s taught me to separate what is being said about my work from how I think about myself. It has also encouraged me to look at my writing through a different point of view. Because of this, it is much easier to pick up my pen and get to work rewriting after receiving a generic “Thank you, but not today.”

And besides, I’ve had enough Yeses to prove to me that when I put my mind to it, I’ve got what it takes to stay in this game.